


Holy Palmer's Kiss

by TypewriterLove



Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Night Vale, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, look i'm sorry but i jsut couldn't help okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypewriterLove/pseuds/TypewriterLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester (you know, the mechanic?) doesn't think much of his town. It's a town like any other, he supposes- there are roads, and houses and schools, and a divinely-appointed City Council that tends to melt into puffs of lime colored smoke on Wednesdays. And now, best of all, there are angels. </p><p>(inspired by <a href="http://4amhauntings.tumblr.com/post/57447426772/listeners-this-just-in-dean-winchester-you">this utterly gorgeous piece of art</a> wow<3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Palmer's Kiss

Dean Winchester (you know, the mechanic?) doesn't think much of his town. It's a town like any other, he supposes- there are roads, and houses and schools, and a divinely-appointed City Council that tends to melt into puffs of lime colored smoke on Wednesdays. And best of all, there are cars. And cars, like most things, break. 

Which means that really, all Dean Winchester needs from Night Vale are cars that he can fix. And seeing as to how many broken windshields and dented roofs resulted from that glowing cloud a few days ago, he's nothing to ask for. His brother Sammy is a little more hesitant about the town- says that it doesn't have a good enough college, that going to the public library is such a hassle when you need to bring a double-barreled shot gun and rune-engraved knife any time you want to brave a librarian. Dean knows somewhere, inherently, that Sammy is going to leave once he's 18. Sammy was always destined to be something better than "Dean Winchester's brother- you know, the mechanic?". And Dean really can't blame him for that. But what with Dad disappearing a few years back, the last thing Dean wants is for any more members of the family to leave. So they have an unspoken arrangement, wherein Dean pretends to ignore the college applications on the dining room table and Sammy doesn't mention the bags he's already started to pack, hidden in the depths of his closet.

It's still kind of depressing to stay in the house though, what with the perpetually closed door to their parent's bedroom, the isolated breaths of the faceless old woman who likes to sleep in the bathtub, the stacks of bloody, library-issued college prep books strewn across the kitchen. So Dean throws himself into the garage that he inherited from Bobby, fixes carburetors and reinstalls spark plugs and refuels the hyper-violet matter converters, until his eyelids are burning, his fingertips calloused and he's slick with grease all the way up his elbows. It's easy to lose himself in the mindless process of fixing cars, of muttering sweet nothings to engines and giving wide grins once they, inevitably, comply to his pleas. He blasts through his entire queue of work in less than 8 hours, leaving him with nothing to do but tinker with the one girl who would never leave him. 

"Baby," he murmurs in a tone that Sammy would call "reverent" (and which Dean would call "Shut up"), stroking the edge of the hood with careful hands as he cranks his girl up. Sammy thinks his "obsession" with their Dad's old car is weird. But a lady as gorgeous as Baby deserves proper care, dammit, and what would Dad think if Dean didn't take care of her? Sammy usually gets quiet after that, but Dean can always hear the unspoken pity, the quiet wonder at how Dean can still believe that Dad was ever coming back. Gritting his teeth, Dean flipped the hood and let himself slip back into the easy slick-slide of things. There wasn't an awful lot to do- Dean always made sure his lady was well taken care of. But it was easy and familiar in a way that not many things were, as comforting as slipping on his leather jacket, and Dean was fully prepared to spend the entire night doing nothing more than tinkering when-

 

"Goddammit boy, have you been here all night?"

 

Dean smiled to himself, before leaning back from underneath the hood and quirking a brow at the grumpy old man. "Hey Bobby," he drawled, wiping his hands on a rag, "I thought you'd be at the bar by now?". 

Bobby humphed and crossed his arms. "Oh ha-ha, pretty boy." Dean scowled, raising a hand to defend himself- "And don't think I didn't notice that aversion tactic. I didn't give you this garage for you to work yourself to death in it, Dean.". Dean's eyes softened for a moment at the unspoken concern, before his scowl slid into a smirk. "Oh come on Bobby, you know I'm going to die surrounded by beautiful women. You don't have to worry about me." 

Bobby's eyebrows rose. "Is there a difference between cars and women for you?"

 Dean grew silent.

 "Good point."

Bobby sighed, as if all the weight of the world was pressing into his shoulders, before fixing Dean with another concerned glare. "Just get out of here, ya idjit. You've already been here all day- get some dinner and come in late tomorrow." Dean rose his hand to object, and was abruptly silenced  by Bobby's furious glare. "Not buts, Dean. If I see you in here at any time before 10 I _will_ kick you out, you hear me?" Sighing, Dean raised his hands in surrender. Bobby was downright terrifying when he got mad. "Alright Bobby, alright. See you tomorrow."

Bobby scowled. "Damned right. Goodnight Dean- and you better not still be here when I lock up in 5 minutes."

Huffing a laugh, Dean cranked his Baby down and set about putting his tools away. Bobby floated towards the back office, before turning back and poking his head back through the wall. "Oh, and watch out for the carcasses along I-55. 'Think there are still a few dead lions here and there from that glow cloud.". Dean saluted idly, wondering if their tow truck might be able to help with those lions. Sometimes it was annoying to have a dead family friend for a boss, but at least the old ghost was helpful. 

 

* * *

  

This is why Dean needed to spend more time on Baby. 

Groaning, Dean thunked his forehead against the side of his car. Why had he loaned his spare tire to his neighbor Meg those weeks back? Oh yeah, because Sammy had some godforsaken puppy-crush on her and would've been fixing all the power of those brown eyes on Dean for months if he hadn't helped the woman out. And Dean isn't a masochist, thank you very much- well. At least not when it comes to Sammy's patent-pending Puppy Dog Eyes.  

So here he is, miles and miles out from the Moonlight All-Night Diner (because _damn_ if they don't have the best invisible pie this side of the state) with a flat tire, no replacement and no cell phone- because despite Sammy's constant groaning about how "Dean, you need to have a phone on you! What happens if Street Cleaning Day comes earlier than expected and you've no way of knowing?" and "It's the age of technology! It's ridiculous for you to not have one. And the phones hardly ever leak meaty-residue, so don't even try to use that as an excuse.", Dean just doesn't like phones. The voices always sounds tinny to him, the speakers hurt his ears and sometimes - even though Sam claims he's being overly paranoid - it gets a little creepy to think about the Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency hearing his every word. 

But despite all that, Dean can't actually find it within himself to regret his distaste of phones. Sure, his situation sucks, but it's as beautiful a night as ever. And with Cecil's sonorous voice purring out of his radio and the stars and mysterious lights shining ephemerally above him, Dean can't think of many reasons to feel sorry for himself. As Cecil goes to the weather, Dean leans up from where he was crouched over the wheel, dusts his jeans off and hops onto Baby's hood. Crossing his arms behind his head, he leant back and stared up at the vast, unknowable sky. It was beautiful, not to be repetitive. Sammy could probably think of thousands of more eloquent descriptors for it, Dean thought, but that simply reminded him of Sammy and the times when they were younger, when they'd drive the car out almost this far (but never too close to the glowing, "RADIATION - KEEP OUT" doors) to shoot off fireworks and watch the stars, leaning against one another as they watched the lights of the town pulse in the desert's distance. 

Dean clenched his jaw, sighing as he stared up at the sky and attempted to ignore the pangs of loneliness echoing out of his chest that he was rapidly growing accustomed to. And yeah, "pangs of loneliness" sounded like a line straight out of his favorite trashy Spanish soap opera, complete with Lazarus-ian lovers and city-mandated breeding partners (and _man_ if Dean wasn't glad they'd stopped that tradition in Night Vale after he'd turned 18. Those had been some seriously awkward teenaged years. But at least it made for good TV- despite the fact that in real life, most breeding partners didn't start to fall in passionate love after the necessary week. Although weirder things had certainly happened.), but it was true. Dean didn't like to be alone, especially on nights like tonight, and as Dean stared up at the night sky and thought about the high chime of a 12-year-old Sammy's laugh, a shooting star streaked overhead and disappeared somewhere above the Arby's sign. 

Despite Cecil's numerous doubts as to whether or not stars and, by default, _shooting_ stars are real, and despite the fact that it could very well be a government sentinel satellite crashing to earth, Dean found himself making a wish in spite of himself.

 

 

_I wish I could share tonight with someone. I wish I wasn't alone right now._

 

* * *

 

Miles away, in a freshly-formed crater beneath the bright lights of a car lot, bright blue eyes turned to look past the sea of cars and beyond, to some unspecified voice echoing out past the desert sand. 

"Are you here for the lightbulb?" a hoarse voice croaked out. The eyes blinked, turning rapidly to look at what was the new object of his brothers and sisters' attention. A small, slightly hunched old human sat on a rocking chair on a dilapidated wooden porch, her tense shoulders covered in a weathered purple shawl. The angels looked at one another, tilting their heads, before Gabriel (of _course_ ) called out "Oh definitely. I'm sure Castiel would be happy to help with your bulb of light, ma'am. Wouldn't you, Cassy?", before turning to the angel in question with a smarmy grin. Cas narrowed his eyes but said nothing, silently ordering Uriel to follow and carefully picking his way towards the elderly human. 

The ensuing chaos (what kind of Hellish contraption was a "ladder"?) would not be easily forgotten. Of course, it was only made more difficult by Castiel's constantly desert-drawn eyes, and the faint echoes of another human's voice ringing bright in his mind. 

 

* * *

  

Dean pressed the crook of his elbow to his forehead and sighed, feeling the desert heat seep into the flannel of his over shirt. He'd rolled up his sleeves the second the tire had gone slack, but that didn't make the heat any less stifling. But as a Night Vale native, Dean knew better than to take it off while out in the open. As many layers as one could manage without catching heat stroke or Phylistician worms (something many tourists caught upon visiting. Though they always seemed quite shocked at their infection, which really beggared the question as to what kind of irresponsible doctors were in other counties. What kind of person doesn't know about Phylistician worms?) was strongly recommended. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean felt a single drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck and, for the 10th time in as many minutes, berated himself for being so stupid as to wish on a "shooting star". Cecil was probably right- had anyone actually _seen_ a star? Dean was swinging himself up to sit on the hood, about to start walking to town when-

a rustling sound, like a thousand distant thunderclaps. The impression of a supernova touching down mere feet away from him. Goosebumps rippling out over every inch of his skin, appearing and disappearing faster than he could comprehend. And, weirdest of all, a permeating warmth furling out from the center of his chest, banishing the faint remnants of his earlier pangs and stretching down to the tips of his boots. In the desert heat one would think additional warmth was the last thing Dean would want- but it was oddly comforting, refreshing, like hearing Baby purr or taking a long drink of water after a day of helping Old Woman Josie in the car lot. It was the chime of Sammy's smile and the burst of far off fireworks. 

It was, somehow, like coming home.

 

"Hello Dean." a throaty voice said.

 

Leaning back on Baby's hood, Dean locked eyes with those that were inhumanly blue, cradled by a backdrop of blue-black wings that crackled and popped, like each feather was a firecracker. Taking in the loosened tie, rumpled trench coat and the pulsing, impossible familiar warmth ringing out from the hollow of his chest- 

Dean grinned, and tapped the open space on Baby's hood in an unspoken invitation.

"What took you so long?"

Cas scowled down at singed finger tips. "I was becoming acquainted with a misleading bulb of light."

Dean laughed, helpless to the sudden wave of fondness, and took the angel's hand as he perched awkwardly against Baby's bumper. "Light bulbs, huh?" he breathed, laughter still sweet in his voice, before rubbing carefully turning over the angel's pale hands in his calloused own. "They're lying little bitches, don't worry about it."

Cas' eyes, which had been focused intently on Dean's face, now clouded with confusion as his head tilted to the side. "How are bulbs of light similar to female dogs?"

Dean huffed another helpless laugh, before knocking his shoulder against Cas'. "Don't worry about it." he assured, seemingly oblivious to the way his fingers were linking with the angel's. Cas still looked confused, but he nodded once, slowly, before turning to look out at the glowing hub of light that was Night Vale, far off in the desert distance and caged in with solitary telephone wires. 

Dean, smile still playing around his lips, turned as well. And so they sat, seemingly the only people in the world, as the earth spun on and the stars pulsed and glimmered above them, each other's presence warm in their hearts and their hands.

 

 _Goodnight Night Vale_ , a forgotten voice echoed out from Baby's speakers.

 

_Goodnight._


End file.
